


Hazardous ways

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Growing Up Too Fast, elves have it rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Caitwyn Tabris is thirteen, and she learns first hand why elven women have to be so careful.





	Hazardous ways

The roar of the oceans was in her ears, and it was like rocks were piled on her chest. Everything was too loud, too close, blood ran down her hand, but she still couldn't breathe. Throat tight, she tried to pick herself up, but her legs were too shaky. Shouldn't be like this, had to be strong, had to be clever, had to get back  _home_.

 

"Get  _up_ , Caitwyn," she growled at herself. "Get up."

 

Finger nails digging into the dirt, shifting her weight to her legs again, she stood. She was dirty, bloody, and more than little dazed, but she was standing.  She was alive, and there was no way in hell she was going to be here when the Guard came around.

 

Walking, stumbling, she made it to the mouth of the alley, the early evening sunlight stinging her eyes. It had been dark in that alley.  She stuck to the shadows, flitting between buildings like Mama had taught her, feeling like everyone could  _tell_ , that everyone  _knew_.  But no one paid any attention to her.  A dirty knife-ear from the Alienage, a slip of a girl headed home a bit bloody.

 

It didn't matter.

 

She didn't matter.

 

Not to the humans, at least. But Mama had taught her that, too. Had taught her many things.

 

* * *

 

"You need to hide your hair, Caitwyn" Mama said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "You're skinny, so you might pass as a boy even now. They might beat you up a bit, but they won't... they won't do anything else."

 

"Ma, I'll be fine," she said, annoyed.  She had just turned thirteen, not a terribly big event in the Alienage, but she was growing up.  She wasn't entirely "just a child" anymore.  Not like Shianni, who was still little.  She smiled, wide and confident. "You taught me what to do, and I've got my knife."

 

"You never use that unless you absolutely have to," Mama insisted. "We don't pick fights, we disable, distract, and run. Our targets are the valuables, my dear, not the people. We aren't assassins."

 

Caitwyn sighed. Her mother's strange morality wouldn't fly with the Chantry, not to mention the Guard of Denerim, but it did keep them in food and fuel for the winter, when others were going hungry and cold. That was even more important with Shianni getting bigger, and Soris being around all the time, looking for more food.

 

She did wonder how boys ate  _so much._

 

Besides, it was fun.  Picking pockets, locks, it didn't matter.  She had clever hands, Mama had said. Clever hands for clever things, touch as light as a feather.  But she couldn't really pass for a boy anymore.  Caitwyn knew why that made her mother nervous, all the girls in the Alienage got  _that_  talk at some point.

 

But she was too tough, too quick, too smart to let it happen to her. Still, Mama worried.

 

"I'll be careful, Mama, I promise."

 

* * *

 

Her mark had been a visitor to Denerim.  It was always better to rob someone from elsewhere. The guardsmen would laugh, saying "that's what you get for being a yokel" or something else stupid if they weren't nobility, and they would have to go back where they came from, never to see her ever again.  It was ideal.

 

Until it wasn't.

 

Until he had caught her hand and she was staring up into hard, blue eyes.  Eyes like chips of ice.  He shifted his grip to her wrist, and she protested, but no one turned.  Just another elf caught thieving, no business of theirs.  Work the guard didn't have to do.  That was all.

 

Dragged, her heels kicking in the dirt, she fought, but he was too big, too strong, and she was still only thirteen.  Only thirteen.  How had she been so  _stupid_?

 

His other hand encircled her thin throat, and he slammed her against the wall.  Her heart beat wildly, but her mother's training took over and she kicked him right between the legs. The pressure on her throat disappeared and she dropped to the ground lightly on the balls of her toes, and then she ran.

 

Or, she tried.

 

One hand lashed out, tripping her up, and he caught her by her kicking legs.

 

"Was only going to give you a hiding, girl, save the law the trouble, but you've earned yourself something else now," he said darkly, and her stomach sank.  The shock of it, the bare, bald admission of it made her freeze.  It was insane, and she could only stare in shock as he fumbled at his belt with one hand while dragging her closer to him with another.  Panicking, she flung out a hand and tried to drag herself away, but her fist closed on shards of glass and metal, broken things that had been thrown away.  She tried not to think about used and discarded things.

 

Then she remembered, she had a knife, but she would have to be close to use it.

 

With an effort of will, she stopped struggling so strongly, and tried to look properly terrified. It wasn't hard, because she was terrified. Out of her mind with it. He was big, so much bigger than she was, and strong.

 

He grunted with satisfaction as he pulled her underneath him, using a knee to pin her down as he undid the front of his pants.  She judged the angle of attack, and knew he was too far away. He was quick, and she couldn't give him any chance to stop her. Pants undone, she tried not to look at his member. She had seen men's parts before.  The walls of the Alienage were thin, and she could admit she was too curious for her own good.  But she felt repulsed by his, hard and engorged and too close.

 

He held her by the throat again, eyes as dispassionate as a man about to butcher a chicken.  He took his knee off her stomach, but even with that she was still short of breath.  She wiggled, trying to find a way to fill her lungs; it only made him smile.

 

 _You won't be smiling soon,_  she thought grimly.

 

Forcing her legs apart with his knee, he lowered himself over her and started to undo the laces of her pants.  His hand felt wrong, awful, too big, like a paw, over her, but he was distracted now, focused on his goal of teaching her a lesson.

 

She had learned alright.  Oh, she had  _learned._

 

Quick as a snake she reached into her jerkin, pulled out her knife, and stabbed him in the side. He stiffened in response, surprised, and again she was free.  This time, however, instead of running, she stabbed him again, overhand, making it look like someone tall had stabbed him.

 

The man fell over, bleeding in to the dirt.  Panting, she knelt down, cleaned her knife, and sheathed it. Then, some dry, clear part of her mind told her to make it look like something other than it was. A pickpocket gone wrong. Clenching her teeth against the rising bile, she put his pants back to rights and lifted his coin purse.

 

Then she took a step forward, a step away, and her legs gave out.  She heaved, and it felt like everything she had ever eaten had come up.  Drained, her heart still hammering in her chest, she began to crawl.  She would get home.  She had to get home.

 

* * *

 

Mama found her.

 

Caitwyn was grateful for that.

 

One look, all it took was one look.  Though, she supposed she still looked like she'd been in a fight, not having had the energy to clean up.  She wanted to be clean, so badly, but that involved gathering up the water and that mean being seen by other people.  So she had wiped herself down as best she could and let it go at that.

 

"Oh, oh Cait," Mama breathed.  She knelt beside her, eyes searching Caitwyn's face.

 

"He didn't manage it.  Killed him.  Made it look like a bad pickpocket job.  Got rid of the coin purse, too.  Sorry.  No take today, Mama," Caitwyn reported, trying to focus on something, anything other than the memory of the terror that had gripped her.

 

"But you're still hurt," Mama said softly, pulling Caitwyn to her.  Caitwyn didn't want to cry, didn't want to be comforted.  Didn't want to—Mama stroked her hair gently, and Caitwyn’s lip trembled, her resolve giving way. 

 

She cried because she had been so scared, and so stupid.  She cried because it had all gone so wrong so quickly, and she had  _killed_  someone.  Now she would be damned for sure, like the Sisters said about bad people.  And underneath the guilt was the feeling that she was dirty, soiled, never could be clean again.

 

“Oh, my little shadow.”  Mama’s hand made soothing circles on Caitwyn's thin back. "Oh, my heart.  But you're home, you're safe now, and I promise, we'll keep training."

 

"What? Why? I killed someone, Mama," she protested. "I'm a murderer."

 

"No," Mama said sharply, holding Caitwyn's face in her hands, looking her in the eyes.  "No, you are not.  You defended yourself, and the Maker will understand that. And do you think this is it? Once and you are overlooked forever by evil people? You might have to defend yourself again one day, you might have to defend Shianni or Soris, or your friends. Do you want to be unprepared?"

 

The thought of facing something like that again make her want to throw up more, but her mother was right. Caitwyn saw that now, no longer thinking her mother paranoid or simply overly worried about such dangers. The dangers were real, they were big and strong, so she had to be even better.

 

Determination shot through her like quenched steel.  Evil would come again to her life, and next time, she would be ready, and she wouldn't hesitate.

 

"That's my girl," Mama said. Pride rang in her voice at seeing Caitwyn's resolve harden. "Now, let's get you cleaned up before your father comes home."

 

"Yes, Mama," Caitwyn said, holding her head high, feeling like she’d aged ten years instead of a single day. "Let's."


End file.
